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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195557">wait for me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghibliterritory/pseuds/ghibliterritory'>ghibliterritory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale is really angry about it for obvious reasons, Crowley faked his death after Armageddon, Genderfluid Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, tags will be added as fic updates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:08:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195557</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghibliterritory/pseuds/ghibliterritory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Angry? Of course I'm angry! Who wouldn't be angry? You stole all of my books on plants and faked your death for three years!"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. my loneliness is killing me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know that I shouldn't be adding a new fic since I have to finish that Cedric one, and I swear I will finish it, but I've been a weird funk as of late and Good Omens is all I can bring myself to write. I hope you can forgive me and, overall, I hope you enjoy this contribution!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before the end of the world (or, what very well <em>should</em> have been the end of the world), Aziraphale had never understood why human beings were so impatient. He would watch them all at their worst and their best, in ancient days and modern ones, in all four corners of the globe, and everywhere he went, they seemed to only want more faster. Humans couldn't wait for <em>anything</em>. But maybe he was biased- he had been around longer and has surpassed many human beings in life, so time worked a bit differently for him. It was still rather fascinating though.<br/><br/><br/></p><p>After what was supposed to be the end, though, he started to understand their impatience very well.</p><p> </p><p>It had been three years since he had saved humanity from complete demise alongside a <em>very</em> tricky demon. Since the Antichrist had defeated the Divine Plan with the power of being an average eleven year old boy at heart, and everything seemed to be oddly at peace. He had slept at Crowley's flat, not knowing that in the aftermath of everything, his sweet bookshop had been restored in perfect condition. For a brief moment, since this had all started eleven years prior to this, Aziraphale had a chance to breathe. Really breathe. And he was more than thankful for the chance. He'd closed his eyes, planning to try out sleep as Crowley had recommended, and let himself relax into the idea that when he woke up, things would be alright.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, it rarely happened that way at the best of times. If only Aziraphale had been a reader instead of a character. Maybe he would have better prepared himself for the emotional blow he was going to receive.</p><p> </p><p>For starters, Crowley was gone from the flat when he woke up. This wasn't in itself unusual, even if Aziraphale missed him, and he waited it out for what seemed like ages. Then, when he wasn't back by the end of the day, and Aziraphale saw The Bentley parked on the side of the street haphazardly with a ticket stuck between the windshield wipers, he figured he must have had some business to attend to and went toward the bookshop. At least he had that. It was relieving to see the old girl back in shape. He didn't even notice the new books tucked away towards the window.</p><p> </p><p>But, then it didn't get much better. He still didn't hear from Crowley for a while, and he <em>very narrowly</em> avoided being destroyed by hellfire (thank the Lord he'd grabbed that last prophecy from Agnes Nutter). Aziraphale tried not to worry. Crowley was a busy man. There were times they didn't talk every day, it was fine. He was fine.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn't reassured when months later, there was still no word, and to make matters even worse, Gabriel showed up on his doorstep.</p><p> </p><p>His smile was disgustingly fake. His eyes gleamed with hate, and Aziraphale felt all sense of love drained from within a five-mile radius of his superior. And yet again, it only worsened.</p><p> </p><p><em>"You know, I</em> am <em>sorry to hear about what happened to your traitor partner." Gabriel had hissed over a cup of coffee. He never drank coffee before. Aziraphale wondered if maybe he'd let himself go after everything.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Pardon?" He had asked, hiding his shock well. One could only assume that he meant Crowley, and he certainly hadn't heard about anything happening to him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Gabriel's eyes sparked. "I thought</em> someone <em>would have told you. He died."</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aziraphale nearly dropped his own cup of tea. It was a very narrow catch. "...Died?"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Yes, it was a gross sight to find, you know." Gabriel's hissing now sounded like excited whispers, even though they rang in Aziraphale's ears like thunder. "Doused himself in holy water. We were shocked we found anything left of him. Just a pile of wet clothes in a bandstand."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The silence from the principality was enough to make archangel's smile return for a week.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It shook Aziraphale to think that it had only been three years ago since he got the news. From the moment he'd heard it, time had passed him by so slowly and painfully, he would have thought that another thousand years had gone already. But time had barely passed at all, it felt like. The world was still the same. Same technology, same cars, same fashions, same everything. It almost didn't seem fair that the universe wouldn't give him enough time to grieve.</p><p> </p><p>The only thing that had changed was Aziraphale. Not that he was exactly a different person in his heart, but he certainly wasn't the same outside. The tidy appearances he had kept before all disheveled fast and his chipper attitude hadn't poked its head out in a long time. His books were covered in cobwebs, and unclean mugs spilled over the shelves and the floor. He'd gotten into the habit of sleeping, finding it to be the only thing that brought his mind any ease.</p><p> </p><p>When he was awake, he was plagued with questions and images and emotions he didn't know how to handle without crying- and his cheeks already stung so badly, he didn't need to make <em>that</em> worse too. But he couldn't stop wondering. Why? The last time he saw Crowley, things seemed to be just fine. He'd smiled at him. He laughed with him over some drinks. He'd kissed his cheek, and made Aziraphale feel a love coming from himself he hadn't felt in so long.</p><p> </p><p>But then it was gone. And he didn't know what he did, what Crowley was thinking, to lead him to do something so... horrendous.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale wondered, three years, eight months, a week and two days since, how humans dealt with this? If he could hardly stand it after what felt like forever to him, did humans ever even <em>begin</em> to heal after a loss like this?</p><p> </p><p>Did they feel this kind of loss?</p><p> </p><p>The questions were newer. They were fresh on Aziraphale's mind as he sat on the couch in the bookshop, curled into himself. His eyes had been focused on a mug across from him for at least an hour. It was his favorite mug, with angel wings. It had gotten chipped on one of the wings quite badly. Why did that feel terribly poetic? He closed his eyes and tried to focus on some other thought. Anything else, just for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>Like the god awful tapping noise he was hearing.</p><p> </p><p>He didn't know where it was coming from, but somewhere, there was a non-rhythmic tapping sound, like a long fingernail on glass. He wouldn't have minded if it at least kept to a certain pace. But no, of course, to inconvenience him further, it was nowhere close to even. He almost motivated himself to investigate, but decided his body felt too weighed to try.</p><p> </p><p>What could he do anyway? In this state, Aziraphale was practically useless. Sighing, he tried to focus again. Something else. Something nicer. Another cup of hot chocolate or tea, or maybe cleaning himself for a visit to the new bakery down the road.</p><p> </p><p>Before he could think about that further, the tapping turned into a very loud <em>crash</em>. Aziraphale shot up, losing his balance and immediately toppling off the couch onto the floor. He didn't get up for at least five seconds, trying to breathe. What in the name of<em> Hell</em> was that? After collecting himself, he stood and rushed around the shop, locating the cause of the crash quickly. A rock had gone through one of the windows, knocking over books and covering the floor with glass. He frowned.</p><p> </p><p>When did he get those books?</p><p> </p><p>Not important, Aziraphale. He huffed and went over to the window, looking out. At first, it was hard to see, since it was so dark out. But then his eyes adjusted, and he spotted something that made everything in his body react. His stomach swirled, his heart-beat became fast and loud, and his head told him he was seeing things, but no, the cause of that stupid rock was as real as anything. The sheepish smile told him that much.</p><p> </p><p>Everything worked so fast, he didn't even feel his hand being torn apart by a piece of glass sticking up from the window.</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry about that, angel, I didn't think I threw it that hard."</p><p> </p><p>Oh, what the <em>fuck?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. i'd trade my life for yours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>From the perspective of the serpent.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Now, in Crowley's defense, faking his death hadn't been his plan from the start.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he went to sleep the night of the end of the world, he had expected to live his life fully normal until they followed the witch's prophecy as Aziraphale suggested, just to escape the backlash of Heaven and Hell. They'd rebuild the bookshop, maybe. Spend less time dancing around each other and more time dancing <em>together</em>, if that made any sense. Things seemed like they'd be much better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But then he started to think about it. A lot. So much so that he had gotten out of bed at least twice to calm his nerves with wine. Heaven and Hell weren't forgiving, and what if the prophecy didn't save them forever? What if all of this good that he'd done only resulted in more bad? And then, he started thinking about Aziraphale, caught up in his need to avoid the end of the world because of some <em>trivial shit.</em> He knew Heaven was far from forgiving. If a stripped identity and the constant pain in his body from his fall didn't remind him of that, his own memory would remind him every day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whatever happened to him in the past, they wouldn't be nicer on Aziraphale. They might even do worse. How could Crowley risk Aziraphale's whole life, who he was and all of the wonderful things he was meant to do, just to save this measly planet? It didn't sit right with him, and it still didn't sit right when the sun started to peek its head over the London horizon. He was very thoroughly drunk. He was feeling <em>very</em> anxious and depressed about the whole ordeal. And okay, in hindsight, Crowley wasn't known for making wonderful decisions at the best of times, let alone in such a vulnerable state of mind. So he did the only thing he could think of to do. He left, and walked around, and thought, making a pitstop at the now perfectly standing bookshop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Adam. What a cool kid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd gone inside and actually looked over the many shelves. It was like a little maze. He could feel how each book was loved and properly cared for by Aziraphale. This meant so much to him. Living was so much more for Aziraphale than it had been for any other angel. Crowley was touched. But it only reminded him that if it got stripped away, it would be <em>his</em> fault, and that would ruin everything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was the part where Crowley <em>really</em> let himself go on with the bad decisions. His mind raced and in a panic, he grabbed a paper and scribbled out a note, shoving it amongst a newer collection of books. Aziraphale was a particular fellow, he'd notice it, right? Then he grabbed all of the books on plants and fled back to the flat, thankful that Aziraphale was still asleep before grabbing what was left of that holy water. Carefully of course.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What follows is fairly simple. He grabbed extra clothes, took them to the bandstand where only hours ago he'd fought with his angel, and doused them as carefully as he could in the water. And then he left London.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn't expected to take as long as he did. Three years passed like nothing, as they always had, and truth be told, he got a little caught up in the strangely grotesque lifestyle of Americans. It was indulgent, and hey, he just needed that one getaway. Enough time to get Hell off his back, maybe get Aziraphale a chance to explain and save himself the trouble of being cast out. Crowley didn't think it was that big of a deal, really. The note explained it all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he came back to London, things had hardly changed. Perfect. He liked the styles and trends of this little era, it was almost as great as the seventies. Crowley hadn't changed much himself, but hey, his hair was longer now. He missed the way it hung just past his shoulders, it was so much more fun to mess with then. And hey, the bookshop was still there. The lights were off, and the sign said closed, but hey, he knew Aziraphale liked his privacy. Wouldn't it be fun to surprise him, too? Crowley planned it out perfectly and waited until it got dark out before trying to be a little romantic with it. He'd seen a film in America where a boy tossed little pebbles at a girl's window to get her attention. Wonderful invention, films.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was a little disheartened when it didn't work after a while. Maybe Aziraphale had kept trying out sleep. That wasn't a problem, Crowley was an unstoppable force of nature when he wanted to be. He just grabbed a larger rock and figured it would be louder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, it <em>was </em>louder, he wasn't wrong about that, but maybe a little too loud. And dangerous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley tensed up, nearly hiding behind a lamp post to avoid the consequences. But it was Aziraphale. He would roll his eyes and miracle the window back, and it would be fine. He grinned, a little excited and a little nervous, as Aziraphale stuck his head out. The expression of shock went right over his head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sorry about that, angel, I didn't think I threw it that hard."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That should have been enough to warrant a smile, a welcome home, something. But Aziraphale stayed silent. His shock turned into a twisted face that Crowley couldn't place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. pride can stand a thousand trials</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some scolding, and some mending.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took Aziraphale a wonderous amount of strength that he didn't know he had not to punch the daylights out of Crowley. When he walked into the shop, his whole arm shook as he stared and tried to wrap his head around everything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley, on the other side of things, was very confused. Instead of pleased, Aziraphale seemed... angry. Which rarely <em>ever</em> happened. He couldn't place why he'd be angry of all things- maybe today had been a bad day, and a rock through his window didn't help? It missed him completely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn't realized, of course, that one tiny flaw in his plan would change everything about how his absence went. The three years apart were so drastically different that nothing made sense to either of them. Why was Crowley so nonchalant? Why was Aziraphale so angry? The reasonings were almost there, but the Lord watched from above and new that this wouldn't involve a very steady path to understanding, no matter how well they explained it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You alright, Aziraphale?" Crowley finally decided to speak up, shifting his weight as he stood. "You look awful-"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Three years?</em>" Aziraphale snapped fast, causing Crowley to freeze. "You left, you were <em>dead</em>, for <em>three years-</em> you weren't even <em>dead?!</em> What the Hell- Where were you?!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A beat of silence passed, and Crowley couldn't help but just stare. He explained it all to him, he even invited him to join later, he... let his eyes wander to the broken glass and books on the floor, and saw the piece of paper sticking out like a sore thumb. So <em>that</em> explained it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"...I'm sorry, okay, let me get that out now, I am terribly sorry-"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sorry? You think a <em>sorry</em> is enough?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Look, angel- Aziraphale- I did try to tell you! See- excuse me-" Crowley carefully maneuvered around Aziraphale to grab the note, holding it up. "I wrote this! Three years ago, the day I left, I put it in the books so you would find it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale eyed the note and snatched it from Crowley's hands, reading it over. He nearly ripped it. "A <em>note</em>? That's it?" The had Crowley rather dumbfounded, admittedly. He frowned and avoided Aziraphale's burning gaze. "Well, I don't know what else I could have done!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Not faked your own death, you moron</em>!" Aziraphale yelled, tossing the note down onto the ground. "You could have done that! You could have let me in on your stupid plan, you could have <em>called to make sure I got your note</em>, there are thousands of better things you could have done!" His breath was starting to wear thin with all this yelling, but damn it all, he wasn't close to done. "What were you running from anyway? Hell dragging you back down? Well, rest assured your little <em>play</em> and I both helped take care of that! You could have quit the charade then, but you had to let it go on until <em>Gabriel, of all Heavenly fucking things,</em> comes to <em>my doorstep </em>to tell me they find what's left of you doused in the most <em>dangerous substance a demon can encounter</em>!" Even as his breathing got more and more labored, Aziraphale continued, going up and getting in Crowley's face even until they were up against a bookshelf, nearly making it tumble over. "No amount of apology or note writing can make up for that, Crowley, I do hope you understand that!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley did understand that. He understood that very well now, his heart beating so loud. He was certain Aziraphale was going to strangle him. But he didn't. He looked down quickly and stepped back, putting his hands almost over his ears. He remembered that he did that even in the early days of Earth, every time he got particularly overwhelmed with emotion. It had lessened a little over time, but it still happened occasionally. Crowley could tell, without even knowing the details, just what this had done.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Angel, I'm sorry." He spoke so quietly even God couldn't hear him, and he reached out slowly. Aziraphale tensed and stepped back further. "Don't- Just- Just for a moment, I... I need a moment." He whispered. His hands stayed put. Crowley nodded and let his hand down, thinking. He had left to keep Aziraphale safe, he thought. This one slip up had made his whole goal feel meaningless. He was safe, sure, but he might have been safe with him still there. And he'd be happier.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley thought that he'd be happier with his books, but maybe he was wrong there too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another few moments passed before Aziraphale took his hands down. To him, it only felt like seconds. To Crowley, it felt like hours. Aziraphale breathed. "I'm sorry." Crowley repeated, reaching out again and stopping before he got far. Aziraphale looked at his hand, and then at his face before very quickly hugging his torso. They had never been the most physically affectionate friends, but they had rare moments. Kisses on cheeks after saving the world. Long hugs after too much stress. It happened. Crowley wrapped his arms tight around Aziraphale's body and he let the angel hide his face. There was some relief. There was still a lot of pain. Both of them could feel the love in their souls shining through. Just a little bit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"...I forgive you, Crowley." Aziraphale murmured, quickly pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Not completely, I'm still<em> very</em> angry with you, and I will be for a while. But to not forgive you at all is too hard."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley managed a twitch of his lips, lifting up his glasses to sit on top of his head. He'd let Aziraphale see them when he was feeling particularly soft or in need of apologizing to him. "That's fair, I'm surprised you haven't discorperated me completely."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I came close." Aziraphale smiled a bit, and they pulled apart. Crowley had started to form a reply, but his attention quickly caught the angel's hand. "You know you've been bleeding?"<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Aziraphale frowned again, which Crowley didn't like at all, and he examined his hand. "Oh, dear, must have been from the window." He muttered. Pulling out the glass in his palm, he waved the injury away and snapped to make the window whole. The new books were arranged again, and the note now sat nearly on one of the tables under a rock. He smiled again. "There. All better."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Perfect." Crowley grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Now?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Now," Aziraphale said. "I'm going to get hammered. And you're going to tell me where you've been. And about the hair, I quite like it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That sounded perfect to Crowley, but then again, anything at all sounded perfect. Just as long as his angel was there to remind him he was acting dumb and making his life brighter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think this is a good stopping point for this! I really liked how it turned out and who knows, if I get more ideas, maybe I'll write more! Until then, though, I hope you enjoyed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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